


Seabreezes

by ifreet



Category: Black Books, Psych
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-03
Updated: 2009-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifreet/pseuds/ifreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manny: I thought you were actually. Gay, I mean.<br/>Bernard: So did I for a bit. Then I found out about the prohibitive standards of hygiene. And all that dancing!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seabreezes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrs_laugh_track](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mrs_laugh_track).



On Friday, Bernard took a right out of the bookshop and walked up the street to his favorite bar. Right inside the door, a large, intimidating panhandler demanded money from him. Bernard vowed to have him removed from the premises but handed over the money to get past first -- only to discover that someone had absconded with his bar and left some horrible changeling in its place, all flash and dazzle and rumbling pounding sound.

Where were the welcoming dark wood paneling and low lights, promising respite from a day spent dealing with idiots? Where the cafe tables at which one could sit and stare off into the inner landscape of literary creation? Where the dim lit corners ideal for brooding over one's as yet unrecognized genius? He blinked. The dimly lit corners were still there, but being put to more... energetic use than the usual contemplation. He tore his eyes away from the embracing couple and discovered that the bar, at least, was still there. Thank God, he needed a drink to deal with this.

Sadly, the bartender, too, had undergone a transformation. He tried to attract his attention but to no avail. He missed Gladys. Gladys nearly always brought him the drink he'd ordered and was probably in love with him, no matter how she sneered behind his back. The bartender went flying past again. Bernard's next attempt to flag him down left him half-sprawled across the bar and still drinkless.

A pair of hands helped him up -- or out of the way, as a trim man in a tight shirt sidled into the gap created, and in no time and without visible effort, he'd acquired not one drink, but two. Bernard began working his way up to a terrific rant on the unfairness of a universe wherein it was impossible to obtain a simple glass of wine in a bar-- when the man turned and held one of the drinks to him. It was virulently pink and topped with a bit of pineapple. Bernard took it automatically, suddenly much more reconciled to the capricious whims of an uncaring universe.

***

There was a reason Bernard mainly stuck to wine, which was that wine never gave him such a bad head. He groaned, which made the throbbing worse, and flung an arm over his eyes, which made it nominally better. What had he been thinking? He allowed himself a trickle of memory -- remembered a procession of fruit flavored drinks, and a nice smile, and... _dancing?_ and hurriedly slammed the gates of memory back shut. Attempts at dancing never ended anywhere good.

A better question: why on earth was he awake?

"Oh, good, you're awake," the answer to that question said as he stepped into the room, wearing only pants and a smile. Oh, God, he'd brought someone home with him. Then, oh, God, he'd brought a man home with him. And finally, oh, God, this isn't even my flat.

The guy from the bar clambered back onto the bed, making it rock like a dingy as he crawled over Bernard. "Morning," he said and kissed him.

Kissed was too mild. He felt consumed, undone; any number of overwrought phrases tumbled through his mind, as the man slid his hands into Bernard's hair and his tongue into his mouth, enthusiastic and forthright and nothing at all like a first kiss.

Because of course it wasn't. There'd been introductions shouted over the music. Don, Ron, John -- no, Shawn. That was it. Shawn had been there through the drinks and the dancing and the dimly lit corners. There'd been kissing at the bar, and kissing as they stumbled out into the street, and kissing at the door to Shawn's hotel room, and a lot more than kissing in the shower before they tumbled into bed.

Well, then. It'd be rude to stop now, and he was capable of putting on his good manners. Especially since, now that he's thinking about it, he really enjoyed that thing Shawn did with his hand in the shower. Bernard stroked his hands up the warm, smooth skin of Shawn's back, drawing him down into the sheets, his headache all but forgotten.

***

Three days of fantastic sex and minimal sight-seeing later, Shawn's ever-present cell phone finally rang. He glanced at the display and a brief, triumphant smile crossed his face.

"Hello?

"In London."

He rolled his eyes. "What do you mean London where? London, England.

"Really? Reeeally. That sounds tricky." He buffed his nails against his chest and waited.

"Oh, you want my help? I dunno, I'm kinda busy here.

"Okay. I'll be there tomorrow." He rang off without a goodbye. When he saw Bernard, he blanched slightly, as though he'd forgotten he had an audience. "Sorry, that was ... well, it's complicated. But--"

"You've got to go."

Shawn plastered on a rueful expression, but Bernard had become too familiar with Shawn's excitement to miss seeing it underneath. He tried to appreciate the attempt and let himself out as Shawn started packing. He wasn't keen on goodbyes either.

***

On Monday, Bernard took a left out of the bookshop and walked up the street to his favorite bar.


End file.
